


hope is a dangerous thing (for a woman like me to have)

by pipe_dream



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Smut, Sorting Their Shit Out, Useless Lesbians, and yvie is a fucking mess, bc every scene and bit of dialogue between naomi and emily is art, bc i love an unconventional relationship, oh and this is extremely loosely inspired by skins, scarlet is naive but honest, to this day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipe_dream/pseuds/pipe_dream
Summary: for the prompt: "I wish I could hate you"scarlet and yvie have a conversation neither of them were prepared for and decide to address their honest feelings.





	hope is a dangerous thing (for a woman like me to have)

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: i spent most of my time hating this while writing it, nearly gave up on it several times and intended for it to be no more than 1k words when it ended up being over 5k so.... i'm just sorry. shoutout to @artificialmeggie for being a lovely beta and alleviating all my fears, also this is my first cop-out of an attempt at smut so pls be gentle. u can find me on tumblr @piipedreams

“Fuck, _shit_!” Scarlet lets out between heavy pants as her body all but writhes. She digs her hands deeper into Yvie’s hair, clawing at her scalp as her eyes squeeze shut and head tilts backwards, back arching instinctually. She’s at the point of no return, has lost all coherent thought or control over her body and actions, finding herself completely at mercy to the other girl’s mouth, twitching and bucking until Yvie gets sick of it, withdrawing her hand from between Scarlet’s legs to seize her hips and slam them down, holding her still with unparalleled force. 

Scarlet lets out a string of high-pitched whimpers like there’s no tomorrow, squeaking and moaning, eyes wide open and a single tear trickling down her face as she catches sight of Yvie, her whole face buried in Scarlet’s body. The combination of such intense sensations and the look on Yvie’s face - the slightly glassy eyes looking up at her unblinkingly as she flattens her tongue against Scarlet - causes her to clench and let out a drawn-out scratchy moan from the back of her throat, primal and desperate in a way she’d never been before. She can feel her body gradually tightening, that _feeling_ deep in her stomach growing as she comes closer to orgasm, every nerve heightened as an electric heat pulses through her, rendering her oversensitive and desperate, clawing and babbling and reaching out blindly for something to grasp for support as Yvie’s tongue moves faster, presses harder, becomes a relentless force eager to explore every part of her. 

She feels like a circuit, live and full of heat, the current in her pulsing veins lighting her whole body up, goosebumps rising in their wake and a shiver running through her as Yvie all but sets her alight. The muscles in her thighs are tense, her hips slightly cramping but she doesn’t care, even _invites_ the pain, revelling as Yvie scrapes her teeth lightly against her, leading from her entrance to her clit, flicking her tongue against it in a motion that has Scarlet yelling, body convulsing at such intense stimulation. Yvie, as always, is a dream, knowing every part of Scarlet’s body inside out, knowing just the right amount of give and take, teasing and touching and the slight roughness that Scarlet loves, every little trick in the book to get her screaming and shuddering like there’s no tomorrow, overcome with pleasure. 

And Yvie knows it, drawing her closer and closer to her climax before suddenly pulling away, causing Scarlet’s eyes to squeeze shut once again as a low groan she didn’t even know she could make is released from her lips in protestation. The absence of feeling is awful, terrible, and she lies there feeling open and exposed and dirty in all the right ways, her cunt spasming as she watches Yvie’s face, covered in her wetness, rise from between her legs with a toothy, cocky grin, brows slightly raised in a manner that taunts her and her desperation, that says “I know you and your body and have full control over it. You’re putty in my hands.”

The sight is too much, the absence of stimulation to her pussy even more, so close to her orgasm that Scarlet is at breaking point. As Yvie tries to suck a hickey into her inner thigh between the smallest bit of laughter at her needy whines, Scarlet digs her fingers back into the hair at her nape, now in the perfect position to pull her off and force eye contact between them. Still struggling to focus on her face but now determined to get what she wants, she yanks Yvie’s head back slightly, revelling in the way her cocky grin immediately disappears, face falling slack with her eyes wide and mouth ajar, caught out and, from the breathy sound she lets out, evidently aroused. Scarlet loves this, the subtle competition, the need deep within both of them to render the other completely useless, to break down every wall and every pretence and force one another to become their most primal and honest selves. And Yvie watches her with wide, waiting eyes, anticipating her next move with an alertness that makes Scarlet feel like the most important person on the planet, another shiver runs through her, pussy clenching around nothing as Yvie rolls her bottom lip between her teeth absent-mindedly. All Scarlet can think about is that fucking mouth.

“You better - _fuck_ \- put that fucking mouth of yours back to work before—” Yvie grins at her words, the picture of arrogance once again, nosing at her cunt and pressing her closed lips against it in fleeting movements. Scarlet can’t contain her reactions to such brief contact, gasping as her eyes fall shut on instinct, then trying to maintain control over her body and continue her demand. “Be--Before, oh _fuck_ , before I fucking make you.” Yvie grins at the pathetic attempt at control, reaching up to place a messy kiss to the corner of her mouth too quickly for Scarlet to react to.

“I’d like to see you try sometime,” she teases, running her tongue across her teeth in a clearly drawn-out, unnecessary movement before immediately going to town, not even giving Scarlet a chance to process her words before she wraps her lips around Scarlet’s bud, the sudden onslaught of pleasure racing through her body so intense that she convulses, her bent legs giving out and hitting the bed. Unperturbed by the uselessness of Scarlet’s body, Yvie hooks a hand beneath one of her knees, pulling a limp leg over her shoulder for a better angle as her tongue darts into her wetness and swipes along her cunt once again. But Scarlet is still desperate, so close to orgasm she can almost taste it, and she doesn’t have time for teasing or games, kicking the heel of her wobbly leg against Yvie’s back.

“No. Do that other thing again,” she demands, trying to sound commanding and certain, but her voice comes out cracked and gravelly, barely above a whisper. 

Yvie huffs out a breath of laughter and presses a kiss to her inner thigh, mumbling an endeared “Brat,” before repeating her actions, wrapping her lips around Scarlet’s clit and sucking, pulling her head back slightly to draw out the intense wave of pleasure that washes over Scarlet. She tries not to thrash or yell, instead letting out an embarrassing squeak of a moan, panting with her fists tightly gripping the sheets and tears rolling down her face. 

Pleased, Yvie repeats the action, again and again and again until Scarlet is crying out, helpless to the noises that take over her body, sparks swimming through her veins and flashes disturbing her vision as though she can _see_ her own pleasure, a bright, hot white and patches of darkness interspersed. She lets her orgasm take over her body, hips twitching and thrusting to meet Yvie’s mouth as her whole body turns to liquid and the electricity inside her turns to a raging heat that spreads like wildfire through her whole body. Her fingers grasp Yvie’s face, hair, head and shoulders blindly for some sense of stability, the only source of solidarity around, hoping her fingers leave bruises in the other girl’s skin to remind her how fucking wrecked she’s left her, her cunt ruined and her body nothing but a vessel for pleasure, for Yvie. 

She’s still shuddering and twitching, the overstimulation of Yvie’s unrelenting tongue drawing out her orgasm as though she revels in it, and Scarlet is babbling endlessly, her brain and mouth no longer connected. Her lips, now bloody from how deep her teeth had sunk into them at the height of her pleasure, release sounds and words she does not know, can not control, her body on autopilot in a way her mind has no choice but to be submissive to, giving up its position as ruler to that feeling of unadulterated ecstasy. 

“ _Fuck, Yvie, shit. Oh my god, oh, ah! Shit, I— I can’t— You’re so fucking good. I— ah— I think— fuck— I fucking love you.”_

And it’s a good job she came when she did, because her comedown is instantaneous; an abrupt, sobering moment of absolute clarity as Yvie all but leaps away from her body, tumbling backwards so she sits leaning back and bracing herself on her hands, long legs stretched out in front of her, eyes wide and mouth open in an ‘O’ shape that could be almost comical were it not for the situation. Suddenly feeling extremely exposed, any sense of ecstasy or pleasure or thoughtlessness long gone from her body in half a second, Scarlet quickly curls in on herself, pulling her silky dress back down and over the knees she tucks under her chin, trying to hide as much of her body as she can as a pang of shame at being so exposed washes over her. She does not meet Yvie’s eyes. She tries to pretend the other woman isn’t there at all, eyes downcast and her whole body thrumming with the anxious energy of the first uphill climb of a rollercoaster. 

Silence coils around them, some kind of invisible wire alive with tension that Scarlet finds herself caught up with as it’s pulled tighter and tighter and she can feel suffocation impending. Even in her worst moments, when she’s fucked up to the point of no return and they’re on the brink of destroying their relationship, Yvie still manages to save her. Breaking the silence carelessly like a knight in shining armour, she so eloquently exclaims “What the fuck?” in a barely audible mumble, breathy like she didn’t mean to say it aloud. 

She looks at Scarlet with wide, questioning eyes, awaiting if not demanding a response, setting herself up for disappointment completely as a stunned and brainless Scarlet simply repeats “What the fuck?” Her voice cracks, high-pitched and almost frantic, ending the question with a pathetic squeak that makes her want to curl in on herself even more. Yvie is shaking her head, eyes half shut and jaw clenched like some sort of pissed off angel. It takes everything in her not to seize her by the collar and pull her back down, press their bodies together, make her gasp at the prolonged movements she makes until she comes apart completely. But she doesn’t, because Yvie breaks the silence again.

“What the fuck?” This time she speaks it, still evidently stunned and seemingly somewhat disappointed, if her tone and the way she squeezes her eyes shut as she speaks before looking at Scarlet with slightly narrowed eyes and her nose all scrunched up are anything to go by. Such a scrutinising glare on her should be terrifying, strike fear into the heart of any receiver, and it _does_ , but something about it makes Scarlet able to feel her pulse throughout her entire body, her whole system momentarily shutting down as it skips a beat. Because Yvie really is gorgeous, even when she’s on the brink of anger, frustration, confusion, hatred. She could be Scarlet’s sworn enemy and she’d still have her melting with just the slightest twitch of her face. Scarlet is putty in her hands. She’s never hated it more.

Still ensnared in the tendrils of love, too sensible to fear the pull in her stomach and too naive to think emotional trappings are dangerous to her, Scarlet is unresponsive, relaxing to sink into the warm heat of feelings and letting her heart transport her to another world. She remains still, silent, presence slipping with such ease. She doesn’t notice the way Yvie’s lips curl - or perhaps she does, but for all the wrong reasons - doesn’t seem to find any threat in the way her throat bobs with a harsh swallow, the way she’s stopped blinking and her fists have balled and she remains even with Scarlet in both the intensity of their stares and of the emotions guiding them. It’s a fatal mistake.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yvie doesn’t hold back this time, cheeks reddening and eyes damp with rage. Hands fly to her hair and rip at the roots, grappling for some sort of grasp and grounding. Body trembling, she roars the words. Her stance is wide and her face is so screwed up it’s a struggle to discern any feature from itself. Scarlet doesn’t love her any less, being both too sensible and too naive. Too sensible and too naive to rationally process Yvie’s scream.

“STOP YELLING AT ME!” Scarlet wishes she could possess the same level of power as Yvie in a single yell as her own pathetic and whiny voice rings out, tinny in her overwhelmed ears. Her body is shrinking in on herself because she’s been too sensible and too naive to realise that love isn’t enough alone, that it won’t save her from the flurry of emotions that can be so easily mistaken for it. She cowers at Yvie’s words, tears up at the sound of her own. She can hear a ringing in her right ear. She wonders how long it’s been there, how easy it’d been for her to ignore it. The room smells like burning, as though she can taste Yvie’s rage, and perhaps the warmth of love consuming her had simply been the second-hand smoke of Yvie’s fire all along. She catches movement in her peripherals, arms coming towards her slowly, the fluttering of the end of her sheets in the breeze from the open window, a bird flying past somewhere far off, fingers approaching, and suddenly everything around her is so alive, so buzzing and bustling and busy and intense that she wants to tear every nerve from her body and curl up in a corner somewhere, comfortably numb. 

But she can’t, so she doesn’t allow Yvie to process her responding yell, doesn’t give her time for regret or apology or comfort, doesn’t welcome back the warmth she knows could consume her. She simply runs, almost tripping over the corner of her bed in her haste, to the nearest separate room, slams the door shut with a resounding and slightly satisfying clang and clicks the lock into place, sliding down the surface until she sits again with her knees by her chin and her open back pressed against the cold wood. She tries, as always around Yvie, to be as small as possible.

In a perfect world, Scarlet is left to herself, allowed to cry and scream and lash out freely, curse herself to high heavens for her stupidity knowing that her house is empty, that she has all the time and space in the world and doesn’t have anything to face behind the door. In a perfect world, Scarlet leaves her body, teleports somewhere grand and rich and dripping in jewels and renaissance paintings and beauty. Prague, Venice, perhaps Budapest - definitely somewhere European, enriched with a deep soulful history - and she pretends the night never happened, that she did not do or say anything out of the ordinary, and she never returns. In a perfect world, she goes back in time and never says what she did, never speaks at all, never fucks Yvie and never even meets her; she saves herself the time, the effort and the onslaught of unsolicited emotion and inevitable heartbreak. 

Scarlet’s never quite been able to find perfection, however, no matter how hard she’s searched. So she stays unnaturally still and holds herself as tears, first individual but soon a hot stream that seems never-ending, slide down her face. She cries like a baby, lets it all out for the first time, every suppressed thought and feeling, all the words she’s wanted to say but known not to manifest themselves in the form of tears. She tries to sob silently, make sure she goes unheard but chokes, breathing growing more erratic until she’s gasping, pathetic and weak. 

It has the potential to be fine. She’s crying like she wanted to, alone and undisturbed, and this could be her chance to get everything out and cleanse herself of Yvie entirely, to forget her. It’d all be fine, were it not for the hammering of the door she’s propped up against. What had started as semi-polite but clearly frustrated knocks had very rapidly developed to fists pounding the surface, and instead of just calling her name a few times the irritation had quickly inspired Yvie to get a whole lot more creative as she yells insults, compliments, curses and comforts in the same string, all in one breath like she can’t contain herself either, like her words are Scarlet’s tears and she _knows_ she’s naive to think that but she can’t help it. She has romanticised everything about Yvie since she first caught a glance of her and old habits die way too hard. 

“For fuck’s sake, Scarlet, LET ME IN!” Yvie yells, battering the door harder and quicker as she finishes as though trying to break it down.

“NO!” Scarlet yells back, high and whiny and vulnerable in a way she hates. She hates all of this, the yelling, the fear, her own irrefutable weakness; she wants to disappear or be left to her own shame but finds herself even more terrified at the idea of being given up on, of Yvie not being around, not being _there_ for every part of her life. Old habits die hard but she knows she has to stop pushing people away, especially if she knows she loves them enough to admit it aloud. It’s monumental, and she can’t just skim over that. This could be something, a point of change or a final point of honesty that forces both of them to come to terms with everything and move on, grow up and stop hurting one another as much as she knows they have been. So as the banging on the door slows, Yvie clearly tiring or perhaps finally considering giving up, Scarlet decides to finally give honesty a try, shaking off every fear, insecurity and wretched hang-up.

“I don’t want you to hate me.” Her voice is meek and almost croaky with the rawness of everything. No amount of swallowing seems to be able to dislodge the lump in her throat and no amount of blinking can prevent the onslaught of another round of tears, now much less aggressive. 

She wrings her hands together and fiddles with her fingers as she awaits a reply, praying to a god she doesn’t believe in that the silence that seems to swallow her isn’t an indication that she is finally as alone as she’d wished to be, that she’d fucked up something so good so hard again. She can’t afford to imagine a world where Yvie has walked out. 

A humourless, soulless breath of a laugh indicates she won’t have to. She feels before she hears Yvie’s presence, breaths in and out like she’s tasting oxygen for the first time, a whole new sense of calm and solidarity overcoming her body as she hears the body the other side of the door separating them slowly sliding down the wood. She can see it in her head, the two of them, back to back in the same, slightly hunched position, curled into themselves for protection as they prepare themselves to release everything they’ve kept so tightly under internal lock and key. 

In their fervour, Scarlet had almost forgotten how Yvie’s voice sounds when calm, the underlying huskiness and slow, almost monotonous tone that leaves her hanging on the woman’s every word. As Yvie lets out a deep, prolonged sigh and speaks, Scarlet feels herself fall all over again.

“I wish I could hate you.” Yvie lets out another long sigh followed by a quicker spout of breath resembling something akin to laughter. She seems overwhelmed, verging on hysterical, yet abnormally relaxed. “God-” Scarlet can hear the smile in her voice. “-it’d be so much easier.”

She tries not to react too hard to those words or let herself start overthinking and over-analysing every letter and syllable as she’s so used to doing with Yvie. The way her stomach flutters and eyes slowly shut at the sound of them, however, is not something she can control or ignore. She revels in the sound of Yvie scratching her head, amplified by the dead air between them. Her head begins to spin with the volume of different thoughts and interpretations that invade it, and she props it between her knees as she squeezes her eyes shut tighter. She speaks solely to clear her head, she tells herself. She feigns innocence and confusion, she tells herself. She isn’t as desperate to hear more as she’s pretending to be, she tells herself. Purposely pitching her voice an octave higher to sell the baffled fantasy, she asks “What do you mean?” tilting her head to the side as though Yvie can see her. 

Yvie immediately releases a syllable that sounds distinctly like an “I--” before cutting herself off. Silence swarms them once again, palpable and somewhat tantalising. She can feel Yvie trying to gather her thoughts - it’s a connection nothing like they’ve had before, more intimate that their closest moments of friendship, more intimate than all the sex they’ve had in their lifetimes. The fire of hope such long anticipation has sparked burns so bold it’s dangerous, but it’s the best Scarlet thinks she’s ever felt. Because she’s naively reckless like that. There’s so much she’s thinking, so much she wants to say but, for once in her life, it doesn’t feel like part of her soul is being destroyed as she withholds it. “Did you know I’m scared of heights?”

“Huh?” There’s a hint of irritation in Scarlet’s tone she tries hard to hide, because this _isn’t_ the conversation she needs right now, and Yvie is, as ever, such a fucking enigma. She hates it.

“You should probably know that. Rides, planes, buildings, trees - I hate them.”

Scarlet wrinkles her nose up. She doesn’t really know how else to react. “You come to my fucking penthouse apartment all the time. You sit on the roof with me to smoke like it’s nothing. I don’t believe you.” She’s aware she sounds like a petulant child but has no intention of trying to control it.

“ _God_ you’re-- I--” She breathes, cutting herself off with a chuckle so fond Scarlet feels the flame in her spark throughout her whole body. It’s a sound incomparable to any other earthly experience she knows of, all-consuming in its beauty, in the effect it had on both her physical and spiritual being. “Scarlet, why do you think I’m telling you this?” She tries not to lose herself in the sound of her name on Yvie’s lips. Because this one’s easy.

“Because you’re trying to avoid the conversation and what just happened. You’re trying to hide whatever’s going on with you, as usual.” Her frustration grows and the flame flickers. Yvie’s responding laugh, though ethereal, is downright frustrating. She can feel a flurry of fucks sitting in the back of her throat at the offensive sound.

“No, baby.” She hates the way she melts at that, wants to scream at Yvie to _shut the fuck up_ , not to call her things like that, but she knows she’ll never get those words out. And it’s probably for the best. “When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me ‘ _no one’s actually afraid of heights, they’re scared of falling_.’”

“Uh-huh.” Scarlet is absolutely not following as she pointlessly nods.

“And he was right.”

She tries to let out another “Uh-huh,” in a different intonation, more drawn out, feigning intrigue and understanding. She wishes she could see Yvie’s face right now, the way she’s always seen right through Scarlet in moments like this and found her endearing enough to hold and laugh at. All the times Scarlet has been able to momentarily live her fantasy flash before her eyes. Yvie ignores her and continues.

“I’m fucking terrified of falling and I feel like I am every time I’m around you. So when I’m here with you, or out on the roof with a joint, I can blame it all on the height and I don’t have to think about the effect you have on me. Because you’re more terrifying than any plane ride.”

Scarlet can’t tell if she’s confused or offended. “I’m nothing to be scared of. I’m nothing, really."

“No, no, that’s exactly it!” Yvie exclaims so quickly she almost cuts her off. “You’re everything, especially to me, and that’s _terrifying._ ” She takes a breath to slow herself down, avoid the rapid and enthusiastic tone she’d suddenly adopted. “I am so scared of the way I feel for you, of the fact I feel anything for you at all.”

The fire of hope in Scarlet has caused her entire body to heat up. She’s almost sweating as she listens to Yvie’s tormented confession and hates the way the vulnerability seems to tear the woman up. So she speaks up before she gives Yvie the chance to ignite her fire or snuff it out entirely.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you, y’know.” She tries to tune out the sound of Yvie inhaling at her words. “I was freshly eighteen, still straight as can be, and you smiled at me on your way back from class-” She takes a moment to let the memory wash over her, eyes closed and a smile immediately coming and going. “-And I’d never felt anything like the way your smile made me feel.” She swallows. “It took me 2 years, I think, to pluck up the courage to speak to you, and you were everything I dreamed you’d be and more. And I was so ashamed of the way I felt that I fucked every guy I could and tried to drown myself in a world of heterosexuality.” Tears come, rolling slowly down her face as she sniffles, so glad she’s too low down to see herself in a mirror. “It didn’t work, of course. And then I fucked you and it was so much and so brilliant that everything I’d spent years hiding and being ashamed of felt so natural, so normal and good and I wanted to drown myself in that instead, to get lost in you. Which I think I still am…” She trails off, trying to remember what her point had been, where she had wanted to go with it all. “The feelings I had-- have-- for you are so overwhelming they’ve been crushing me and I’ve let them, because being crushed seemed like a better option than potentially ruining what we have. Nothing scares me in this world more than losing you, and I hate it. But I love you and-- I can’t help it. I can’t apologise. And I don’t need you to feel the same but I can’t let myself be destroyed by my love for you any longer. Neither of us deserves for me to hold that back, and I really wish I could open the door so I could see your face because it’s the one thing in the world I can rely on to make me feel better, sex be damned.”

As the words flow out of her, she keeps her eyes tightly shut and tries to lose herself all over again. It’s this commitment that causes her to almost not register the sound of movement behind her, the muffled sniffles from the other side of the door growing quieter, more distant. Gingerly clambering to her feet, Scarlet places a tentative hand on the doorknob and pulls, slow and cautious like she’s about to reveal her own fate to herself. And perhaps she is. 

The room comes into view bit-by-bit: first the window she’s spent so much time staring out of, watching the bustle of the city from her vantage point and trying to decipher the stories of every passerby; next the bed that lies in the centre of the room, the sheets still crumpled into a heap and the outline of her own head still carved into the pillows like some divine reminder of her own sins; finally the armchair at the other end of the room, a red, fluffy thing she’d found at a flea market with Yvie and Pearl when she first moved in that had become her most prized possession, for the first time occupied. 

Yvie sits like a queen awaiting her portrait, regal and shining in the golden light cast over half of her face. She doesn’t avoid eye contact, staring straight at Scarlet with soft eyes and a gentle, closed-mouth sliver of a smile. It’s enough. Scarlet is rooted to the spot as Yvie opens her mouth.

“I can’t say it. You know I can’t. Because I don’t know and-- and I’m scared. I can’t let whatever I feel for you become me, it terrifies me.” She inhales deeply, audibly. “I know that I have strong feelings for you I just-- don’t know what they are or what that means. And I can’t lie to you. Not anymore. I’m gonna need time - not apart!” She adds at the way Scarlet’s eyes widen. “I just need you to be patient. But I need you, because I’m so scared of losing you too. _Fuck_ , I’m so scared of everything.” She laughs the laugh of royalty, of queens and gods and angels and all otherworldly beings. “So I’m sorry, I guess. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Scarlet simply shakes her head in response, blinking away tears. As Yvie nods her head backwards, beckoning her over, she does not hesitate to scramble to sit at her feet, cross-legged like a worshipper, cheek resting against slender legs like they’re the sole source of comfort and stability in her life. And perhaps they are. It definitely seems so as she feels an arm wrap around her shoulders, gentle and wary yet tight and strong enough for it to feel like an embrace with a purpose, the kind that reminds her how safe she is and how much Yvie would give for her, how much she _does_ give for her every day. She doesn’t know if it’s the love she’s wanted but it’s unmistakeably love that wraps its tender coils around them like an unbreakable bond interlinking their very souls. 

The hand of the arm over her shoulders hangs loose for a moment but quickly finds a new purpose as Scarlet feels finger running carefully through her auburn hair, slowly untangling every strand and smoothing out every curl. Something about the action feels poignant. In a voice meeker and softer than Scarlet has ever heard before, simply laced in content, Yvie murmurs a muffled “Can we just stay like this for a while?” as her hand stills at Scarlet’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

Hiding a bashful smile in Yvie’s leg, Scarlet feels a warmth flow through her that makes her feel more alive than she ever has. There’s still something there, an uncertainty she can feel in the goosebumps on Yvie’s skin and the shiver she tries to suppress, and she knows this isn’t _it_ , it’s merely the start of a much longer and more bumpy, vulnerable journey for the two of them. She knows exactly why Yvie wants to stay like this, knows the hidden meanings of all her words and intentions, but she’s okay. She has faith that no matter what, she will inevitably be okay. Every negative thought she’s ever had about hope is beginning to fade as she loses herself in the feeling of being in Yvie’s arms. 

So she buries her head deeper into the woman, wrapping her arms around Yvie’s legs and holding them close to her chest, and with just a hint of a smile, the kind that conveys a solemn understanding and acceptance, she speaks louder and clearer than she has all night, in a perfectly solid voice. “Yeah. For as long as you need.”

The fire of hope becomes a hearth, lighting up the room and leaving them both perfectly, pleasantly warm.


End file.
